Making Up For Lost Love
by AnnieOwnsTheStreets
Summary: Four years ago, Cheyenne split with her boyfriend Phil in favor of her country music career. Now that both are stars, it makes sense that they run into each other at the Kids Choice Awards. Is 4 years too long, or can they make up for lost love? PunkxOC
1. Thirteen Blocks

In 2005, Cheyenne Albo was a 19-year-old aspiring country singer. At eighteen, she had been signed to an artist development deal and her dreams were finally starting to take off. Just one thing stood in the way – her boyfriend. While he was supportive, his tattoos and professional wrestling profession didn't mesh well with Cheyenne's down-to-earth Southern girl image. Glory Road Records gave her an ultimatum – "cut him loose, or we cut you loose." Phil and Cheyenne said their goodbyes and moved on.

Or so they thought.

Four years and not a single word spoken between the two did quite a bit to help them move on. Cheyenne has been romantically linked to several guys since then, most famously a young actor named Gregory Lane, but in reality she hasn't had anything serious since Phil. Meanwhile, Phil (stage name being CM Punk) has dated a couple fellow wrestlers but isn't attached to anyone currently. Both of their careers have blossomed amazingly well – he's WWE Champion, and she's working on her second studio album – so it makes sense that of all places that they could run into each other, it was the 2009 Kids Choice Awards. He was nominated for Choice Athlete and her for Choice Female Singer. Is four years just too long, or could they make up for lost love?

* * *

><p><em>Four Years Ago<em>

_June 2005_

_Nashville, TN_

Another blazingly hot Tennessee day had bestowed itself upon the residents of Nashville, and Cheyenne Albo was definitely feeling it. The air conditioner in her Ford Taurus had long since broke, and she was on the verge of melting. All four windows were open as she blazed down the highway, but that did little but blow her straight blonde hair in her face and annoy her. She took the appropriate exit and spent the rest of the drive thinking about the cool air that circulated through the studio she was headed towards.

Punctuality was a foreign concept among Albo's, so naturally she arrived to Blackbird Studio ten minutes late. Thankfully, the studio had a pretty relaxed atmosphere, so she doubted that anyone would even notice. She killed the ignition and unbuckled her seat belt before taking her guitar case from the passenger seat and walking to the lobby. Cheyenne opened the door with a smile to the receptionist, who gestured her towards Studio A where the producer was. Cheyenne walked in and was greeted with a hug from her producer Michael Fitz, who was arguably the most talented, driven country music producer today.

"How are you, Cheyenne?" Michael asked after he let her go and sat back down in his seat in front of the switchboard. She set her guitar on the table in the corner and shrugged.

"Not bad. Ready to work, you know?" she replied and zipped open the black Road Runner gig bag, which hid a shiny black Epiphone acoustic. Beneath the guitar was a stack of paper with scribbled, crossed out and revised song lyrics, complete with sloppily written Post It notes stuck all over them.

"That's what I like to hear, my dear. We'll finish tracking Thirteen Blocks and do the vocals before we start anything else. My intern, Lanny, added the banjo that you wanted, so we should be ready to go." Cheyenne sat down, Indian-style, in the chair next to his and they started to finish up the music. When they were both satisfied, she went into the sound booth and slipped on headphones to enter what she considered absolute bliss – singing her songs. Michael counted to four and the new music played in her ears. _It sounds perfect,_ she thought to herself quickly before beginning to sing.

_Stumbled off the porch step_

_Sat down in the car_

_Only thirteen blocks across this town_

_To get to where you are_

_And that don't offer me much time_

_To make up my mind_

_So I best be driving slow_

_On my way to letting go_

As she finished up, she saw Michael and Lanny clapping from the outside, signaling that her first take was perfect. She exited the booth, where Michael blended the vocals and the track and they listened to the finished product.

"Absolutely perfect. Exactly what I had in mind," she said with a bright smile. She couldn't wait to show it to her executive producer, whose decision it was to decide whether she was finally ready for a record deal or needed more time on the developmental program.

"It'll be a hit," Lanny replied from the computer, where he was burning it onto some discs. One would be sent to Glory Road Records to show the executives Cheyenne's most recent work, and the other was Cheyenne's to take home and listen to or give away.

"Let's take a break," Michael stated and stood. He took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and left the studio, presumably to go outside. Cheyenne went into the hallway and took out her phone. She held in the 1 key, which was her speed dial for Phil.

"Hey babe!" he greeted after the third ring. It was 10:15, so he probably woke up about twenty minutes ago.

"Hey yourself! What's up?"

"Not a heck of a lot. I was going to head to the gym pretty soon, you know, fine tune these guns of mine." Cheyenne could practically imagine flexing his biceps as he spoke, and it made her miss him.

"What guns? You're flabbier than an old woman's arms. Who's been telling you lies?" The nineteen-year-old laughed to herself, knowing this would damage his ego.

"You better watch yourself, little girl. I'd be pleased to fling you around a wrestling ring, you know, knock some sense into you." He paused for a second. "Are you at the recording studio right now?"

"That I am, belting my heart out until the cows come home. We just finished a new song, and it's going to be sent to the executives at the label and maybe they'll finally sign me." Phil Brooks knew all about his girlfriend's anxiousness to be signed. As she said to him, you could only hone your craft for so long before it can't be honed anymore. It annoyed him that they were blind to her obvious talent.

"I bet it's amazing. Have you had any gigs lately?"

"Eh, here and there. I'm getting into the Bluebird Cafe in a month though, which is like Nashville's songwriters haven. That's when the label will probably take me seriously." Cheyenne sighed and then audibly groaned. "I'm so tired of waiting! I've been waiting for a whole year and ain't nothing happened yet. I obviously have the drive, I can write my own songs, and I'm familiar with playing live, but I feel like they keep waiting for something to happen that ain't gonna happen."

"You just have to be patient. They're just afraid because you're young." _Story of our lives,_ Phil thought to himself bitterly. Pretty much everyone the couple knew thought it was weird that a 28-year-old and a 19-year-old were together, but all that really mattered to each other was that they were in love. Age is but a number, they always said.

However, the Albo's disagreed. Cheyenne's father claimed that she was too young to be serious with anyone, especially an almost 30-year-old up-and-coming wrestler. Her mother was afraid that he would try to use her inexperience and naivety to manipulate her. Of course, they were both wrong, but that didn't stop them from having their opinions.

"Yeah, well, whatever. So, how is CM Punk doing in the wrestling world? Still Ring of Honor World Champion?"

"Hell yeah I am! Also, I got an interesting phone call the other day," he teased, knowing it would drive her crazy.

"Well don't dangle it in front of me, you ass! Who was it? What did they want from you?"

"Get your panties out of a twist, Chey. It was Vince McMahon, from the WWE. He really wants to sign me." He paused and tried to think of how to explain it so that she would catch on. It wasn't that she was dumb, far from it; but as supportive as she was, Cheyenne didn't really follow wrestling and probably wouldn't understand. "He offered me a contract and I would be a big-time wrestler, on TV."

"Well you better hope for your sake that you said yes!" she shrieked in his ear, thrilled beyond belief. In her eyes, CM Punk was the best wrestler on the planet and no one deserved to be in the big leagues as much as him. The receptionist leaned over the counter to see where all the noise was coming from, but Cheyenne hardly noticed. "Did you say yes?"

"No, I passed on the best offer I'll ever get because something better might come along," he replied sarcastically. "Of course I said yes! I start training in September. I'm moving to Louisville to be part of their Ohio Valley Wrestling promotion."

"Louisville? As in Kentucky? We'll live three hours away! We'll be able to visit each other all the time! This is the best news I've ever heard, ever! We have to celebrate soon." Cheyenne was jumping in place as an attempt to calm down, but it wasn't working. She would be closer to her boyfriend who she barely ever saw, and quite frankly she was happy about it.

"I'm so glad you're happy, I really am. I'm pretty fucking happy too," Phil expressed. You could practically hear his smile, if at all possible. It was infectious and Cheyenne was smiling too. A moment of comfortable silence fell on the conversation, each lost in their own thoughts. Cheyenne's reverie was broken when she heard Michael return inside. He came down the hallway and motioned for her to finish her phone call. Lanny opened the door to Studio A and inside Michael went.

"I'm so glad. I'm so excited that I'm shaking, Phil. I gotta get back into the studio, but I'll call you later. I love you so much and you deserve this more than you'll ever know."

"Yeah, I should head out too. Colt keeps calling me because we're going to the gym and he gets a stick up his ass whenever I don't return his calls. Call me around five your time, or later, if you can. Love you." They said goodbye and Cheyenne hung up before sliding the phone back into the pocket of her jeans. The grin was still on her face when she returned to the studio.

"Someone's happy. Good news?" Michael predicted. The blonde just nodded.

"Very good news."

"From your label?" He guessed further, hopeful.

"Oh, no! Not from the label. But good news nonetheless." Silence drifted through the room and she clapped her hands together. "Anyway, we oughta get to work on I Heart Question Mark if we wanna get it on that promo CD."

* * *

><p>Phil answered the call coming from the other line as soon as his girlfriend hung up.<p>

"Gee, I'm so touched that you finally decided to answer my fucking phone call." _Colt doesn't sound very pleased_, Phil noted to himself with just a touch of glee. "Who the fuck were you gabbing with for fifteen minutes? The President?"

"I was talking to my girlfriend, you dumbass. I had to tell her the good news."

"Oh of course, why would you want to talk to me when you could talk to your total babe of a girl? I'm still not sure how the hell you convinced her to even look at you. Must've been luck. How is she anyway?" Colt and Cheyenne had met once, and while they were hardly best friends, they had a mutual like for each other.

"She's great. She's really excited about me moving...she says Nashville is only three hours from Louisville." Phil mulled the prospect of living closer to her over in his mind. The couple hadn't seen each other for two months, when Phil came down to Tennessee to visit. Since then, they'd been corresponding by phone. The idea of being able to see each other virtually any time they were free sounded pretty darn good.

"Well good. The Perfect Couple receives their light at the end of the tunnel once again. Anyway, are we going to the gym? I have abs to work on."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll meet you there in 15 minutes." Phil exited his tiny apartment in the heart of Chicago to meet Colt at the gym down the block.

* * *

><p><em>Two Months Later<em>

_ August 2005_

_ Nashville, TN_

It was finally, finally here. Glory Road Records scheduled a meeting with Cheyenne to discuss a record deal. They heard her newest songs and saw her perform at the Bluebird and loved it all. From the way it sounded on the phone, it seemed as though they were ready to sign her for real.

Cheyenne Albo was waiting in a conference room, nerves playing at her. Within just a few minutes, she would be a signed country recording artist and she could hardly believe it. The door opened and in stepped three suited men, who all shook her hand before sitting down.

"Cheyenne Albo. I know it must seem like it's been years, but in a few short months you really proved that you're ready for the world of country music. We were apprehensive because of your age, but we're sure that you're ready for a record deal now." The suit in the middle shuffled some papers around and turned them to her face her. "However, we must negotiate the contract.

"It states that you have a three album deal, each no longer than three years apart. Your target fan base will be adolescents aged 13 to 22, predominantly female. Are you following?"

"Absolutely," she breathed.

"Good. Now, because of that small detail, we must clear up one issue. We have reason to believe that you are currently dating professional wrestler Phillip Brooks, alias CM Punk." Cheyenne's eyes widened in surprise.

"Yes, I am...but how..."

"He hardly fits the image that you will be trying to project. This is show business, after all...Quite frankly, him being linked to you will detrimental to your career. He needs to go." He said this without any emotion whatsoever, as if this was a simple request that wouldn't affect anything. The three stared at her, awaiting a response.

"That's ridiculous. Phil won't _hurt_ my career. How can you possibly ask me to break up with him?" Were they even aloud to do this to her? Would Phil actually drag her down? And since when did she have an _image_? Why couldn't she just be Cheyenne Albo, singer-songwriter-guitar player extraordinaire?

"He promotes violence and his body art will send the wrong message to parents of the girls you're trying to sell to. Surely you can see where we're coming from." Sure she could; any rational person could see their reasoning. That didn't mean she had to like it.

"I...I have to think about it. This isn't a split second decision. May I be excused for a few minutes?" The suits nodded and she was aloud to use the hallway to call him. It reminded her so much of when she called him that morning two months ago. However, that day they were celebrating good news; today would be anything but.

She pressed that familiar 1 key and the dial tone began. He answered rather quickly.

"Are you signed yet? Are you country music's hippest, grooviest new thing?" Phil babbled. She smiled weakly and tried to stop from crying.

"...No, not quite. We gotta talk."

"Oh...well that doesn't exactly sound promising. What's wrong, babe?"

"They..." she tried, but her voice got stuck in her throat. The tears were brimming in her eyes. "They think you'll be 'detrimental to my career' because of your tattoos and because you're a wrestler. Apparently you don't fit with my 'image' very well. They said we have to break up or the deal's not happening. What I would really like to know is how they know we're even together."

"That's fucked up!" he yelled. "Are you serious? They won't sign you unless we break up? I can't believe this. What are you going to do?" The line was quiet for several moments.

"I love you," she sobbed uncontrollably. "I love you so much, and if you hate me it will literally kill me inside. But how am I supposed to say no to this? They get me, they get what I want to do, and nothing like this will ever happen to me again."

"...So you're going to break up with me. For fuck's sake, Cheyenne, you're not even going to think about it? You're just gonna cut me off and move on?" He didn't want to sound so harsh, but this was sort of a harsh situation.

"They're in there right now! I have to decide now or it's over! I wish there was some other way, but there's not. This is it, and I made up my mind. Just please tell me that we can still be friends. I need to know that we're okay."

This seemed like something out of a bad drama movie. The heroine was basically leaving the hero in the dust for something bigger and better, and damn if it didn't hurt him inside.

"I can't tell you that, because I won't lie, I'm really pissed off right now. I just didn't think you'd be this selfish just to get your stupid fucking record deal." With that, he hung up, officially ending what they ever had together. As much as Cheyenne wanted to break down and cry, she had to pull herself together. This was her decision and she had to stick with it. She placed her cell phone into the pocket of her pants and returned to the room. All three suits looked at her with curiosity as she sat down, grabbed a pen, and signed the contract right then and there.

**(A/N: Hola! So this is a little different from anything I've written previously. I hope you enjoyed! P.S. I don't own anything, including the song 'Thirteen Blocks' which was written by Taylor Swift and Scooter Carusoe.**

**-Annie)**


	2. Love Song

_Four Years Later_

_April 2009_

_Los Angeles, CA_

In a world where five A.M. wake up calls occurred near daily, you would think that they'd be easy to get used to, but Cheyenne Albo had yet to look at them favorably. She was a girl who liked sleeping for as long as possible, but that just wasn't plausible today. Today's agenda was absolutely full of things to do, starting with getting herself out of the hotel bed.

She pushed the covers off of her body and answered the wake up call, where the girl on the other line told her good morning. The 22-year-old mumbled something incoherent before slamming the phone back down on the receiver. Later she would feel guilty for being rude to the concierge, but right now she was just tired. Terribly, terribly tired.

Next on her list of things to do was to wake up her suitemate and best friend Eloise Kirkpatrick, who was still snoring in the other bed. Cheyenne shuffled over to her side of the room and shook the ginger girl awake, or at least attempted to do so.

"No, thank you," Eloise spat before tossing and turning so that her back faced the blonde. Cheyenne gripped the covers and tossed them off of her friend. "I'm just going to sleep 'til tomorrow morning. Maybe I'll wake up then."

"Not an option, sweet pea. You have to film that public service announcement today. Let's go!" Cheyenne, the taller of the two at nearly 5'10" and thus just a tad more able, linked her arm in Eloise's and sat her up. Eloise simply flopped back down, head connecting to the pillow, although she did reach for her black sunglasses from the nightstand. She vehemently refused to allow anybody, including her best friend, to see her eyes; marked gray with blindness, she found them embarrassing. It didn't matter to her that as a celebrity, most people already knew that she was blind. Cheyenne just rolled her eyes at her lazy friend and went to shower. After washing her hair and shaving, she blow dried her straight locks and exited the bathroom. She noticed Eloise was finally up and was getting dressed herself.

"What are you going to wear?" Eloise questioned as she buttoned her salmon pink skinny jeans.

"White sundress and brown cowboy boots," the other responded and she took the sundress, rolled up in the suitcase to prevent wrinkles, and slipped it on. She sat on the bed to slide into her boots, and then took her collection of bracelets – multiple colors, shapes, and materials, most being fan-made – and slid them all on her left wrist. The girls dressed themselves in silence, each thinking about their day ahead. Eloise had to be on set for the PSA at 7:30 AM, and then would get to hang around until the Kids Choice Awards at 6. Eloise was up for Choice Song, as her debut single 'Love Song' had practically been this winter's anthem. _If anyone deserves to win_, Cheyenne thought, _it's Eloise Kirkpatrick_.

Cheyenne heard her cell phone ringing from the bed, tangled somewhere under the covers from her late night text conversation with Gregory. She patted the bed frantically for it before finding it between the comforter and the flat sheet.

"Hello?" she answered after seeing that the caller ID read Hannah, her manager who doubled as a makeshift mom.

"You better be up or so help me God, you will not be leaving my sight in a very long time," Hannah threatened, only half serious. Of all people, Hannah knew better than anyone that Cheyenne was notoriously fifteen minutes late for everything.

"Take a chill pill, woman, we're both up and dressed. I need to be at the radio station at eight, right?" Cheyenne asked as she inspected her appearance in the large mirror attached to the closet. She plucked a piece of lint from her dress and absentmindedly tossed it to the carpet below.

"Um, NO. Your interview is at eight. We need to be physically in the studio by 7:15." The sound of Hannah maniacally clicking her pen echoed through the speaker. "I would really appreciate if you could leave the hotel at 7 so there is no possible way that you could be late for this." From the other side of the room, Eloise snickered at this request. Cheyenne could've left for the radio station yesterday and she'd still arrive there late, so strategies like this always end up futile.

"I promise I will waiting in the lobby at 7. Are you gonna bring a car for Eloise? She has that Prevent Blindness America thingie this morning."

"The radio station and the photographer are in the same building, remember? We're taking the same car. Now, you're going to Ace of Spades Salon on Sunset Blvd for noon. You're getting your acrylics filled, a pedicure, hair done, and makeup. Then I'll go to the dressmaker's, pick up the dress, and meet you in your hotel room around four-thirty."

"Sounds good. It's 6:45 so come get us, please." Hannah hung up with her and Cheyenne checked her unread texts. One was from Greg, asking if they were meeting at her hotel room to go to the show. She replied with the affirmative and scrolled down, seeing texts from more of her friends and even one from her mother, all wishing her good luck tonight. This definitely put her in the award show mood and she was ready to hit the road. The blonde faced her red haired friend, who had just exited the bathroom. "I didn't even see you go in there! Ready to go down?"

"Yep! Do I look good?" Eloise asked, carefully twirling around. Along with her pink pants, she had on a white cashmere sweater and black Converse Chuck Taylor low tops. Her long, gorgeous waves were perfect styled. She looked great.

"Fantastic. Let's go before Hannah calls in the National Guard to search for us." Cheyenne guided Eloise out the door and to the elevator. As they were on the 14th floor, it took a while to get there. When it arrived, they walked in and Cheyenne hit the ground floor button. They made fun of the elevator music before the elevator reached the ground floor and let them off.

The lobby was absolutely buzzing with people, even though it was only nearing 7 A.M. Business men and women in suits were exiting the building, and others were making use of the hotel's cafe. Eloise and Cheyenne walked outside together and chatted while they awaited the car's arrival.

"Let's go! If we pray hard enough, we might make it on time!" Hannah yelled from the passenger seat. The girls got into the back seats and the driver sped away, from the hotel and towards their destination.

"Remember, Chey, they're going to ask about Gregory but just downplay it. Try to talk about the new album and the awards show tonight. Also, you'll be performing two songs live on the air, acoustic. The guitar is in the trunk," Hannah elaborated as they neared the studio building. "There's going to be paparazzi outside so whatever you girls do, just get inside as quick as possible. Don't answer any questions and don't let them upset you." This was routine. They had all of this down – it came with the territory.

Several minutes later, the driver parked on the side of the street. Hannah opened her door first and made room for the girls by pushing herself against the people with the cameras. Cheyenne held Eloise close and shoved through to the entrance of the building. As soon as they stepped in, someone guided the red haired singer to a door with a sign that said 'CURRENTLY FILMING – PERSONNEL ONLY.' Hannah pulled herself through the entrance only a moment later, carrying the guitar case, all the while ignoring the yelling of questions and comments.

"Could've been worse," the manager mused as she checked her PDA. A young girl with a clipboard came down the stairs and greeted them.

"Miss Albo! We've been expecting you. Come up so we can get you situated." She gestured for them to follow her back up the stairs and through a hallway where Go Country 105 broadcasted. The assistant let them through and they were immediately greeted by more people who guided them to the broadcasting area, complete with switchboards and microphone. She was seated and her guitar case were placed next to her. When the station went to commercial, the DJ, a middle-aged man with a big beard and friendly eyes, reached over the microphone table to shake her hand.

"Thanks so much for coming in. We're going to be starting momentarily with the interview, and then we'll move into your two-song acoustic set. I'm sure you've done this before, so there's not much else to be said... We're also going to be taking a couple calls from listeners. They're screened so it won't be anything too crazy. Sound good?" The blonde nodded, put her headphones on, and moved the microphone closer to her. "In five, four, three, two, one..."

"...Good morning Los Angeles! You're listening to Jimbo on Go Country 105, LA's premiere country music station. This morning we're being joined by the Princess of Pop-Country herself, Cheyenne Albo. Let's give her a warm Los Angeles welcome..."

* * *

><p><p>

Phil Brooks had been awake since five that morning, thanks to a scheduled Skype meeting with the Kids Choice Awards people to make sure he knew what to do and where to go tonight for the show. After two hours of essentially reassuring them that he was in the possession of at least seven brain cells, he shut down his computer and leaned back in bed to relax and think about later tonight.

He had never been to an awards show; hell, he barely even watched them. They failed to interest him, but tonight he was actually nominated for something – Choice Athlete – and although he had about a one in a million shot of winning the thing, at least it would be something different and interesting to do. He turned the TV on to the news station for a little white noise before going to the bathroom to shower. Phil had quite a bit to do today – an autograph signing with Mike 'The Miz' Mizanin and Michelle McCool being among the list – and so he had to get ready.

Half an hour later he was dressed in jeans and an old black ROH hoodie, and his iPhone was ringing, anticipating his attention. He grabbed it and answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Punk! It's Mike. What time is the signing again?"

"Uh..." Phil went over to the dresser that held the itinerary that was printed off for him. "Says to be at the Convention Center for eleven."

Mike breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks man, you're the best. See you then." When Mike hung up, Phil put his phone into the pocket of his hoodie and tried to think of something to do. Perhaps going to Starbucks would be a good way to kill time. After grabbing his room key and wallet, he left the hotel room and jogged down the stairs, before taking the exit door to the parking lot. There sat his rental car, a black Ford Explorer. Phil got into the driver's seat and typed Starbucks into the GPS unit, and it began to give him directions that he put on silent. Instead of listening to the GPS, he would find something to listen to on the radio.

He was already halfway there and still couldn't find one decent station to stick to. He was stuck at a red light and took the time to flip between two stations that were both just coming back from commercial.

"_Hey LA! We're back with the top pop hits from the '80s and beyond..._" It took him only seconds to turn this station off. _Well, there's nothing quite as horrible as that_, he thought to himself and decided on the last station.

"_...Good morning Los Angeles! You're listening to Jimbo on Go Country 105, LA's premiere country music station. This morning we're being joined by the Princess of Pop-Country herself, Cheyenne Albo. Let's give her a warm Los Angeles welcome..._" Phil froze immediately. Cheyenne was in Los Angeles? The same exact city he was in, currently doing a radio interview? Of course he knew that Cheyenne was now a huge name in country music; you'd have to be living under a rock not to. However, he made it a point to ignore anything connected with her. To say he was still bitter about all those years ago would be an understatement. "_Thanks for joining us in the studio today, Cheyenne. How are you liking LA?_"

"_Jimbo, it's my pleasure, and I'm loving LA. My really good friend is here in town with me and we're just having a blast._"

"_Now Cheyenne, I understand that recently you've been dating Gregory Lane. Is he the 'friend' that you're in town with?_"

"_Oh, God, of course he brings up the boys!_" Laughter echoed from the car stereo and it sounded so much like she was right there with Phil that he quickly checked the passenger seat to make sure it was empty. "_I'm actually single. Gregory Lane and I are just friends. The friend I'm hanging out with is Eloise Kirkpatrick._"

"_However, you do understand that Gregory stated that you two are, in fact, together. Now why would he say that if it's not true?_"

"Does anyone really care?" Phil said to himself, accelerating when the light turned green. No matter how much this interview was annoying him, he couldn't turn it off. Hearing her speak was so strangely satisfying to him.

"_Gregory Lane and I just must have different definitions of together. We're just friends._" The tone of finality shined through her voice, but Jimbo wasn't having any of that.

"_Will Greg be your date for the Kids Choice Awards tonight?_" Cheyenne was silent for a moment.

"_I'm going with Eloise. Speaking of the Kids Choice Awards, I'm nominated for Choice Female Singer so you should definitely go online and vote for me. And vote for Ellie, too._" Now everyone was silent. Phil couldn't help but smirk at how tense it must've be in the radio station right then. Their guest was practically avoiding every question given to her. A veteran of radio interviews himself, he knew that to the average listener it could be damn near impossible to pick up emotions with nothing to go on but somebody talking, but he knew that she had had enough with the questions about her current boy toy.

"..._Alright, let's take a couple calls from listeners. This one is from Roxie, who's 14. Roxie, what's your question for Cheyenne?" _Jimbo introduced.

"_Hey Chey! I just want to tell you that I'm your biggest fan. Everyday I come home and put your album on repeat because I love it so much. Anyways, I have two questions. First, how many songs have you written, and second, how old were you when you first had a boyfriend?_"

Cheyenne cleared her throat softly before replying. "_Thanks Roxie, that means so much, and I'm glad you really like the album. I've written about three hundred songs, maybe more, since I began writing at fifteen. Secondly, I had my first ever boyfriend at sixteen, but my first serious boyfriend when I was nineteen._"

Phil turned the stereo off altogether, unable to take much more of that. Even though he and Cheyenne were long since over, that reminder that she was still out there put him at unease. The fact that she would also be attending the Kids Choice Awards later that night did little to help that. Phil considered himself to be quite strong mentally; emotions usually didn't play at him with trivial things like girls. However, Cheyenne Albo was hardly just a girl. She was the girl who pushed him aside for something she found bigger and better, and judging by that interview, she had been correct in her thinking. She had a made a name for herself and she was successful. Cheyenne was happy without the man who otherwise would have desecrated her 'image'. Understandably, this was a blow to his ego.

He put his turn signal on and pulled into the Starbucks drive-through, so lost in his thoughts that the car may as well have been driving itself. The girl attempting to take his order had to call out three times before he answered – asking for a venti Misto, coming out to $4.23. Phil pulled up to the window and exchanged the money for his drink. After pulling into a parking space, he put the Explorer in park and watched as rush hour traffic rolled by.

The ringing of his iPhone startled him from his reverie. He shoved his hand in his hoodie pocket and yanked the phone out. The screen read 'Call from: Maria'.

"Hey Mia," Phil greeted the bubbly girl whom he called his girlfriend. They had been dating for just over three months, and although they weren't very serious, she was the first of his girlfriends in a long while that he actually enjoyed being around.

"'Morning! Did you sleep well?" asked Maria, who sounded like she was eating something. She continued after a second, "Sorry, I was eating my bagel and I didn't expect you to answer so soon." He couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, I slept okay. How about you?"

"Excellent, considering I was on a couch. The Best Western we stayed at double-booked our suite, so we got bumped into a room with only a double, which Barbie and Maryse took claim of. But it's fine, my neck isn't half as mangled as I expected it to be. We're on the way to the first photo shoot now. How's L.A.?"

"Well, it's kind of boring; it's only 8:15 here and the signing starts at 11. I don't really know what to do with almost three hours except stare at passing cars."

"Go back to bed!" Maria suggested above the muffled voices in the car with her. She quietly asked them to calm down, claiming that she was having difficulty hearing him speaking. "Sorry, the girls are so wired on caffeine because we found this really cute little coffee shop next to the hotel. Apparently they serve lattes with like, four shots of espresso each. And that is precisely why I always order decaf." Then, Maria shrieked and started arguing with Barbie in the background. "_No_! Keep my Michelle Branch CD in! You have Cheyenne Albo on your iPod, listen to her on there!"

Phil inwardly groaned. It seemed like he just couldn't escape his blonde ex today, which made him suspicious about the events that would unfold later tonight. Would they run into each other? Would she even recognize him if they did? The chances of them seeing each other seemed miniscule, but there was always that possibility. He decided to just force it from his mind; right now he was talking to Maria, his _current_ girlfriend.

"I swear I might hide that Michelle Branch CD on you just to see how bad your withdrawal would be," the Straight Edge Superstar told Maria, who gasped in shock – whether it was real or just pretend was anybody's guess.

"You keep your hands off it, Phillip Brooks. I'm not kidding. You touch it and I will forcibly remove your fingers." Okay, so she seemed kind of serious. "I've had this same disc for like seven years now. Anyway, you should go back to bed. With the awards tonight, you probably won't even get in 'til midnight so you should get all the rest you can."

"You're probably right. Have fun at the photo shoot."

"I'm _always_ right!" she responded happily. "And I will. Good night!" She hung up and he tossed his phone in the passenger seat before downing the last of his Misto. He doubted he would get any sleep after his coffee, but the thought was nice. He put the car in reverse and backed out of his spot, exited the parking lot, and drove back to the hotel. Once he was in his room, he switched on the TV and plopped onto the bed, trying to focus but not doing a very good job of it. The noise allowed him to get lost in any random thoughts that occurred to him, and he could hardly believe it was 10:30 until he double-checked the clock. After a quick speed-change into something slightly more presentable and a quick sprint out of the hotel, he was back in the slightly familiar rental car and driving towards the Los Angeles Convention Center, courtesy of the Mapquest directions he had printed out and stashed in the car last night.

While the streets of Los Angeles were complicated, with heavy traffic doing little to help out, he managed to arrive on time and parked where the valet asked him to. Michelle and Mike waved at him from back entrance, and he nodded in acknowledgement before he joined them.

"Ready for the biggest autograph signing of your life?" Michelle's breezy, southern Floridian accent asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Just two and a half miles away, Cheyenne was at the Ace of Spades salon, finishing up her appointment. Her acrylic nails, having been in need of a fill, now looked brand new, her toes were pedicured and polished lavender, her makeup was done with light gold on her eyes and pink on her lips, and her blonde hair was in a stunning curly updo with a few curls around her face. Cheyenne was so pleased with everything that she added a $50 tip onto her bill and made a mental note to definitely return whenever she was back in town.

Her phone buzzed from within her left boot, since she had gone purseless today; instead, she had stashed her cell and her credit card in her shoe. She took it out and answered.

"Yes?"

"It's Hannah; I'm outside. Gregory is meeting us at the hotel for 5:30, and then red carpet at 6. I have the dress and it's absolutely gorgeous, exactly how you wanted it." Hannah had a knack for answering any question you may have without you even having to say anything. It was great.

"'Kay, I'm coming out now." She hung up and exited the salon, immediately sighting Hannah's black car parked near the curb. Cheyenne got into the passenger seat and caught a glimpse of the dress hanging over the driver's side backseat window. "It's so gorgeous! I can't wait to put it on!" The dress was the exact shade of champagne gold that she had asked for, in a cut that hit just above her knees. Between her hair, makeup, and dress, she had no doubt that she would love the way she looked tonight.

"I told the dressmaker you would adore it. Your hair looks cute, too. Is that what took so long?"

"Yeah, like two hours. They individually curled little sections of hair and pinned them up, but then the one girl said it turned out weird so they redid it. I don't care, they could've redone it eighteen times and I'd be fine with it because I love it that much." They chatted all the way back to the hotel, mostly about the awards show and how they hoped Ellie would win Choice Song.

Once they were back in the hotel room, serious business commenced – Cheyenne stripped out of her sundress and boots and carefully stepped into the strapless champagne number. It was fitted around the bust, but flowed out at the waist all the way down to the hem. With her matching stilettos, she had hardly ever been so in love with an ensemble. Hannah helped her fasten fashion tape to the bust to prevent any potential mishaps, and before long Gregory was knocking at the door. Cheyenne double checked her appearance before opening the door and ushering him inside.

"Hey!" she exclaimed and hugged him. He had on a white suit with a light blue dress shirt and a champagne colored tie on behalf of her dress, and his brown hair was just messy enough to pass as stylish. She loved it.

"Hi," he replied. "You look beautiful." The blonde's cheeks reddened and she let him go.

"We should head out if we want to get to the red carpet on time. I'm sure traffic is just great downtown, and with any luck we'll actually arrive on time," Hannah announced. The trio left the hotel in just the slightest bit of a rush, as it was 5:30 and traffic would take at least twenty minutes. The red carpet started at six, and they pretty much had to be there in time for it.

"Have you heard from Eloise since this morning?" the country singer questioned from the back, leaning forward and placing her chin on the shoulder of the driver's seat. Hannah peaked at her through the rearview.

"No; she has her own manager, you know. She's probably already there. Also, you're going to get makeup all over the seat if you don't lift your head." Cheyenne complied and sat back, talking to Gregory about the event tonight and their days. She found him charming and funny, although she sometimes got an insincere vibe from him. That was pretty much all Hollywood guys though, but it was something she had yet to get used to.

A special drop off line had been formed for limos and cars of celebrities in attendance, and Hannah utilized it to drop the couple off. They stood in the line behind the carpet, waiting for celebrities that had arrived before them to make their way further down. A tech with a clipboard and a headset kept ushering people out in front of the cameras every so often. Finally their time came.

They started out posing together, but split up after a couple of moments. They didn't need any more rumors than the ones already swirling around, and posing as a couple the entire way down just seemed like a publicity stunt. Cheyenne was vamping it up, twirling and throwing her shoulders back. With her back facing the cameras, she turned her head toward them but something in her line of vision stopped her. She stared and stared, but her mind refused to believe it for several seconds.

What the hell was Phil Brooks doing on the red carpet of the Kids Choice Awards of all places? She blinked, thinking it was just some strange mirage from not eating at all during the day, but there he was, looking extremely uncomfortable in a suit with his hands in his pockets. She didn't move. She couldn't move.

Four years ago, she made a decision, thanks to being young, insecure, and impulsive. She let him go in order to chase her dreams, and while in some ways it had been a mistake dumping him, her current location at the Kids Choice Awards, possibly accepting an award for Choice Female Singer later tonight, told her otherwise. This was what she had wanted, so why had it hurt so bad to leave him? She had long since stopped worrying about the past – Phil was now successful, Cheyenne was now successful...but that didn't make her choice any less selfish, did it?

He moved towards her direction swiftly, seemingly wanting to make a fast getaway from the paparazzi. Even as he started to shuffle towards Cheyenne, who was now within hearing distance, he still hadn't seen her.

She cleared her throat, hoping he would hear, but it was just a little too noisy. Without thinking about the possible consequences (that was never her strong suit), she acted.

"Phil!"

**(A/N: So here she finally is! Sorry about the couple days' wait. Sometimes that pesky thing called real life demands attention and it just can't be ignored. This took me a while to write because there was just so much to do, but I'm pretty pleased with how Chapter 2 came out. Please don't be afraid to leave criticism; this is my first fic in a _very_ long time and I'm sure there are things I need to work on. Thank you so much to the three people who reviewed, and to everyone who alerted!**

**P.S. I own nothing!**

**-Annie)**


	3. Long Time Coming

Phil had arrived to the red carpet event, presumably on time. Vince McMahon had asked him to at least pose for a few pictures to generate a little interest in the WWE, and hoped to produce a little bit of a family-friendly image for the company. Phil didn't mention that if Vince really wanted his business to have a wholesome image, he could cut the thirty minutes of girls practically stripping on national television every Monday and Friday night.

He only recognized a small handful of the celebrities there, since he wasn't a big fan of the type of people who typically made appearances at children's award shows. He watched with slight interest as a red haired girl with sunglasses was guided down the aisle by a tall, muscular guy in a tuxedo. He was interrupted when the girl in charge of letting people in front of the cameras told him he could walk out.

The flashing of the cameras blinded him for a second, but once his eyes adjusted he realized just how many people were there. All of the people behind the barrier were fighting to get towards the front so they could take a good picture. He made sure to pose for just a moment, to make his boss happy, and then continued down the carpet, his plan being to get inside as quickly as possible. The Straight Edge Superstar paused behind the red haired girl from before, not wanting to ruin her shot or something. The last thing he needed was to photo bomb some teen star's picture. The muscular man whose arm was linked with hers looked at him.

"Sorry, man. We'll just be a second." Then came the double take. "You're CM Punk, ain't you? Congrats at winning Money in the Bank." Punk smirked.

"That'd be me. Thanks."

"Strange seeing one of you's out here, though. Didn't think Nickelodeon liked the WWE all that much. Hey, do you think you can get me Kelly Kelly's number?" The girl with the sunglasses elbowed her escort in the general area of his kidney and Phil laughed out loud, both at her outburst and at her date's ridiculously thick Southern accent.

"Daniel Earl Panabaker, the next time you ask for a girl's number in front of me is the time you die." She blew a piece of hair out of her face. "You're like an animal, I swear it."

"Yes I am, Miss Ellie," he replied and kissed her on her cheek. The paparazzi went insane and the flashing was almost unbearable as they tried to capture this on film. Phil knew that he had to get away from this scene or he would most likely throw up at the couple's PDA. They seemed like nice enough people, and Daniel's name sounded kind of familiar to him, but he knew that this would most likely turn into a make out session that he really did not want to watch. He squeezed past them and continued on his way. This area was much less crowded, with one star every five feet or so. He really just wanted to get inside, but he halted when he heard someone yell his name.

He shrugged it off at first; no one around here would refer to him as Phil. Here, he was CM Punk, the first straight edge Money in the Bank winner in the WWE, a nominee for Choice Athlete. He was most certainly not Phil. He continued on his way before he heard it again. Phil turned to the source and almost jumped when he realized who he was looking at.

As if seeing a ghost, there she stood. The girl that had practically been _haunting _him all day long (more like for nearly four years, really.) As corny as it sounds, he felt the world literally stop around him. Her eyes slowly widened and her hand went to her mouth in shock. However, she came to her senses and walked over to him, keeping a safe distance. She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled a humorless smile.

"Dear Lord, it's like seeing the Holy Ghost," Cheyenne exclaimed, tracing her eyes over him quickly.

"Does that make you Jesus?" he responded cheekily. She rolled her eyes in that way that used to drive him insane and wrapped her arms around his torso.

"It's been so long," she whispered into his ear before pulling away. "How have you _been_? How is wrestling?"

"Wrestling's great, things are good." He took her in; her light blonde hair was done up and her dress almost looked too good on her. He was starting to remember why he had fallen for her in the first place, which was making getting over her once and for all really difficult. A smile filled Cheyenne's face and it even made her blue eyes shine. She was happy, which gave him mixed feelings.

"I'm so glad. I think about you sometimes, you know. I even tried to start watching WWE, but you know how I am with wrestling." She didn't like it. She never had, but she never tried to stop him from doing it. He started to notice all of her old mannerisms that he used to know by heart; the skin on the bridge of her nose crinkled when she smiled, her fingers wouldn't stop fiddling with the hem of her dress.

"You should come out to a show sometime." _Why in the name of all that is holy did I just suggest that?_, Phil thought to himself immediately. Was seeing her again something that he wanted to happen? As he took in the sight of her dress that was so tightly bound to the few curves that she had, he knew his answer. _Yes, I definitely want _seeing_ her again to happen._

"Sure, that'd be fun," she beamed. "How long are you going to be in town for? I'd really like to talk. Catch some lunch or something." Every word was practically dripping with hope. He knew deep down inside that he should've said no, should've lied and said he was leaving tonight, but he didn't.

"I'm leaving tomorrow night," he responded hesitantly. With a huge grin, she unzipped her small gold bag and pulled out her phone. He got the hint and took his own phone out of the pocket of his jeans. They exchanged numbers.

"I'll text you tonight, so we can work out the specifics. Lunch is good, right?" She looked at him expectantly and he nodded. Her smile practically took up her face. She was thrilled. "Good. I'm so glad. We should head inside, though. Show starts soon, you know?"

"Good luck," he told her before they walked inside the theater to be seated. She waved goodbye and was swept away by a stagehand. Since no one came to his aid like they had for Cheyenne, he decided to seat himself in the first empty seat he found, which happened to be next to 'Daniel Earl Panabaker' and his ginger girlfriend.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Daniel greeted Phil as he sat down. "I saw you talkin' to Chey; told Ellie and she just about wet herself. They're best friends."

"Daniel, shut up or I'll shut you up. Can you blame me for wondering who was talking to my best friend?" She leaned forward and turned towards Phil. "I'm Eloise. It's nice to meet you."

"Punk. Or Phil. Doesn't matter to me," he replied. So this was Chey's best friend? It was weird, seeing this whole new life that Chey had built for herself. He was glad she was successful, but it was pretty strange that everything that used to apply to her didn't seem to anymore. He didn't remember Cheyenne really having that many friends while they were together.

"Ellie, this is _CM Punk_. He's gonna be the next World Heavyweight Champ when he cashes it in on that goof, John Cena. Unless you decide to go for the WWE Championship, but I doubt Vince will take it off of Triple H. But who am I kidding, you probably already know what's going to happen and maybe I just sound like a damn fool." Phil smirked; Daniel Earl Panabaker seemed to know his stuff. Maybe this awards show wouldn't blow so badly if there was going to be someone to talk to.

"Stop harassing the man about your wrestling conspiracy theories. Anyways, I want to ask you something," Eloise spoke to him now, leaning towards him again. Daniel sat back in his seat, realizing that he wasn't going to get a word in edgewise if his girlfriend had anything to say about it. "Chey had mentioned in passing that she had dated a guy named Phil. That wouldn't have been you, would it?"

"Well, I'm not sure if she's dated other guys named Phil, but yeah. We were together for about a year." It seemed like ancient history now, but once upon a time there had been a couple composed of CM Punk and Cheyenne Albo. Eloise grinned, resembling the Cheshire Cat.

"This is too good. You broke up before she was signed, right? Well, I guess more accurately she broke up with you. To this day it kills her, seriously. Every time she has relationship problems, Chey brings you up. I've heard so much about you that I feel like I've known you for years," she laughed out loud, seemingly not noticing the look that Phil was giving her. Quite frankly, he wasn't really sure how he was supposed to respond to this. "You were her first love and she lost that, so you should probably get back together."

"It's not that easy," Phil said simply and sat back. He didn't want to discuss this, especially not with Chey's best friend, and especially not with the man who could quite possibly be his number-one fan beside them both. Was he supposed to care that Cheyenne supposedly still wanted him back every time her flavor of the week pissed her off? They had split years ago, and he sure as hell wasn't going to run back to her after she had practically shattered his ego.

"She still loves you. She writes about you all the time... I can't even count how many of her songs are about you. You were Cheyenne's first love, and she's never going to have that with anyone else. You have to get back with her, you just have to."

"I don't _have_ to do anything," he spoke through gritted teeth, becoming increasingly irritated with this pushy girl. "I currently have a girlfriend. I appreciate your intentions and everything, but please just stop."

"Ellie, c'mon. Don't bother the man," Daniel interrupted quietly, patting her arm affectionately. The Southern guy sent Phil an apologetic look. Eloise sat back in her seat without another word, choosing to just ignore both her boyfriend and her friend's ex-boyfriend. Phil decided to just relax and scan the crowd to see if he recognized anybody.

A few minutes later, the only person he saw and knew was Cheyenne herself. She was about three rows back from the very front and was sitting by the aisle, like he was. They were only five rows apart. He noted that the guy next to her spoke, and she laughed before kissing his cheek. _Must be that Gregory guy. _He didn't have too long to ponder it, because the show began just a moment after.

An hour in and he was practically bored to tears. One thing was for sure - from the handful of award shows he had seen on television, actually being there was so much worse. This particular show was plagued with commercial breaks, crying celebrities on stage and occasionally host Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson introducing people and bands that Phil had never even heard of. He was slowly drifting to sleep before they started to introduce the nominees of Choice Athlete. Being a nominee himself, he sat up in his seat in case a camera decided to pan to him. How wonderful it would be if the TV had shown a sleeping CM Punk; he was sure Vince would just _love_ that.

He couldn't quite hear, but he was pretty sure he hadn't won. This was verified when he saw someone named Heath Rutger run up on stage to claim the award. Daniel groaned from beside him.

"What an ass. He thinks he's hot shit because he's projected to win the Indy 500 this year. All he is is a dick."

"You know him?" Phil treaded lightly, certainly not wanting to piss his neighbor off further.

"Know him?" Daniel scuffed. "I hate him. He thinks he's the best thing that NASCAR has ever seen because he's the 'underdog' or some horseshit. He's an ass that tried to steal my girl." With the mention of this, Daniel wrapped his arms around Eloise's shoulder. _So that's why Daniel Earl Panabaker sounded so familiar_, the Straight Edge Superstar thought to himself. _He's a NASCAR driver._ Phil decided to leave it at that and sat back again.

Later on in the show, both Choice Song and Choice Female Singer were announced. Unfortunately, neither Eloise nor Cheyenne won their categories, but Eloise stated that she hadn't minded.

"I just like being here," she stated while clapping.

"You and nobody else," quipped Phil. The redhead's face contorted in confusion while Daniel chuckled beside them both. At least somebody appreciated his humor. Applause broke through the crowd and the lights started to go up, signaling that the show was over and was no longer being broadcasted. Phil stood up so quickly that he may have looked like a blur to anyone looking his way.

"Is Phil still here?" Eloise asked from beside Daniel; the couple was now standing and had linked arms. Phil noted that that was a really stupid question, but leaned forward so he was in her line of vision and waved. Daniel cleared his throat suddenly and nudged the other man with his elbow, seemingly trying to communicate through some provisional sign language. Phil shot him a mystified look and Daniel scratched his neck with his free hand.

"You gotta say somethin', fella. She ain't seein' your hand, she ain't seein' nothing at all." Once realization hit Phil, embarrassed horror flushed through his face.

"Oh, shit. I had no idea...I'm an ass." Of course he had noticed that Eloise was wearing sunglasses inside, but he figured it was just some weird celebrity thing that she felt the desire to do. He had never even considered blindness.

"It's fine, but I think I may feel better about it if you go to the after party and rekindle your love flame with Cheyenne," Eloise grinned slyly. "In fact, I think I may even forgive you, should you do that."

"For Christ sake, Ell, leave the man _alone_! Why you playin' matchmaker when he asked you not to? Get your nose outta their business," Daniel exclaimed. However, there was no malice in his tone, just disbelief. The Southern gent turned to his favorite wrestler. "I swear, girls ain't happy unless they're knee deep in shoes or setting people up."

Phil laughed in agreement and said that he'd better go. Eloise asked once more if he was going to the after party, to which he declined. The trio exchanged pleasantries before he turned to exit the building through the line formed through the door.

"Hiya," came from behind Phil. He turned and saw Cheyenne there, smiling brightly. Typically he had a couple of inches of height on her, but with her high heels, they were eye to eye. "Did you have fun?"

"Can't say I really did," he smirked in response. She stared at him for a moment until she suddenly smiled.

"Maybe I'm just accustomed to them. I didn't know you were nominated for Athlete until I saw your picture on the screen. I wish you would've won!"

"No, no, it's fine. I'm glad I didn't; I didn't have a speech or anything prepared." Awkward silence fell between them as they shuffled towards the door. Cheyenne had crossed her arms and was looking around. While together, they had had plenty of silences, but never like this. Their silence was always comfortable. Now they didn't even have anything to talk about.

"So, did you get my text?" she asked. Confused, he pulled out his phone. One missed text from her – '_Are you going to the after party?_'

"Heh, just did. Afraid I'm not." He watched closely as her face fell in genuine disappointment, and he almost considered changing his mind. "I doubt I'll be missed there, anyway."

"I'll miss you," she responded in barely a whisper, arms crossed at her chest. The silence following her remark was much more uncomfortable than the last one. He scratched at his neck, hoping to high tail it out of here as quickly as possible. Emotions weren't really his thing, especially with girls, and if she was going to end up pouring her heart out to him he wasn't sure if he wanted to stick around for long. "I have missed you."

When he didn't reply, she tried a new approach. "We're still on for lunch tomorrow, aren't we? We've got to catch up."

"Sure, of course. Just tell me where to go and when and I'll be there." They locked eyes and her crooked smile flooded his mind with memories. _Holy hell, pull yourself together. Don't go all girly on me now,_ Phil thought, trying to coerce himself from falling all over again. In a split second, she squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I'm just so excited, seriously. It'll be fun to reminisce and catch up, right? You've gotta tell me all about the WWE. I'm sure you just love it, but I've gotta hear all about it." Against his better judgement, he wrapped a tattooed arm loosely around her barely-there waist. It was surely a sight to see; a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, pristine-looking girl embracing a tattooed, lip-ringed, blue-jeaned professional wrestler. It didn't make sense, but nothing about them ever had.

* * *

><p><p>

Cheyenne didn't even remember returning to the hotel after the after party. All she knew was that it had been extremely late, maybe about one AM. She had stripped from her dress and flopped into bed, not bothering to even put pajamas on. When she woke in the morning, it was ten and she had a missed text from Phil.

'_Think of a place yet?_'

She was glad that he had remembered, but had to admit that she hadn't put much thought into it since the night before. She remembered a little bistro that she had enjoyed last time she came to town. Phil had always liked Italian food.

_'There's a little place off Sunset and 18th called Verona that's so good! Italian, yum! :) How does noon sound?'_

Almost instantaneously, she was no longer sleepy; just excited. She began to get ready, but took her time, as she had about two hours. After a quick shower where she kept her hair, now in loose waves due to yesterday's style, dry she began to decide on an outfit.

She didn't want to look too casual, but she definitely wanted to look good. If his ensemble from last night was any indication, she knew Phil was probably going to wear jeans, so she thought she'd mirror that. After a good couple of minutes of assembling different pieces, she decided on skinny jeans, Uggs, and a Tennessee Titans hoodie. Once Cheyenne double-checked everything in the mirror, she grabbed her phone and found a new text message.

'_OK. Hope you don't mind that I'm coming in disguise...I don't want anyone to know that I agreed to socialize with a loser like you.' _Before she could even think of a witty reply back, another message made her phone buzz. '_And for Christ sake, ARRIVE ON TIME._' She simply said that she would try, and that she would see him soon. The fact that she would be sitting down face-to-face with him for the first time in a long time made her giddy. She was definitely excited, almost too much so. It was 11:30 when she decided that she would leave early to try and arrive to lunch on time. Cheyenne owed him that much, right?

Finding the restaurant was not the problem. In fact, Phil was impressed that it was so easy to locate, given the less-than-stellar directions that Chey had given him. The problem was that his feeling that this whole get together was just a bad idea was growing within him with each step he took towards Verona. He walked inside and told the hostess that he would need a table for two. She led him into the red and black decorated dining room and asked him if the table by the window was okay.

"Perfect, thank you." He took off his sweatshirt and put it on his chair. As he did so, he observed that the place was practically empty except for an older couple in the corner and a group of four teenaged girls right in the center. _Fantastic. _An explosion of airy laughter came from them, and Phil could feel a headache coming on. The cheery hostess came back to drop off two menus for him before going to tend to the couple on the other side of the room. Again, emotional melodrama was typically not his thing, but he couldn't help but feel that this lunch date would do nothing but dig up bitter feelings that were better left in the past.

He was gazing out the window, not really even looking, when he saw a blur of blonde hair fly past the window. With a glance at the clock on the wall that read 12:07, he knew instantly that it was her. Being tardy for everything was kind of her signature.

She opened the front door and instantly conversed with the hostess, who had since returned to her podium in the foyer, for just a moment too long. Phil shook his head when he realized that she was signing an autograph. Afterward, the visibly starstruck hostess led the blonde to Phil's table by the window.

"Howdy, stranger," Cheyenne greeted him with a cheeky grin. Quickly, she claimed the other seat and tucked some hair behind her ear. "I'm quite surprised to see you up, you know, since you were just such a party animal last night. Tell me, did you have a fun time living it up in your hotel room? Did you invite a 2 liter of Pepsi and a comic book?"

"Sorry to have left you off of the guest list," the pro wrestler responded quickly. "I don't know what it is with you people and your after parties. Everyone I talked to last night asked me if I was going. Granted, that amounts to two people, but you see my point."

"Who did you talk to?"

"Some racecar driving hick and a ginger named Eloise. She claimed to be your best friend." At this, Cheyenne slapped her palm loudly against the table, inadvertently garnering the attention of everyone in the room. She didn't seem to notice.

"You talked to Eloise? What a small damn world! And Daniel, too! Did you know he and I are second cousins? I hope Ell was nice to you."

"Nice, sure. Pushy as all hell, though." Phil watched as her expression changed to wary confusion.

"Pushy about what? The after party?"

"Not quite." He rubbed the back of his neck before hesitantly clarifying. "She kept implying that we should get back together. Well, implying isn't really the right word. Perhaps a better term would be stating." He observed as her face flushed pink and decided to move away from that topic. "Although I suppose the least I could do was let her state all she wanted, because I had no idea she was blind until Daniel told me. In front of her. After I had waved at her." Cheyenne burst out laughing before slapping a hand over her mouth to contain herself.

"Oh my God. I'm sure that you were really embarrassed and all, but that might be the funniest thing I'll hear all day. Lord, you crack me up." She was still laughing when she picked up her menu to decide on her meal. A waiter arrived just in time, asking for drink requests.

"I'll have a Pepsi," Phil told him.

"Is Coke alright?" the waiter responded while writing in his tablet. Phil nodded curtly and the waiter turned to Cheyenne.

"I'll take a glass of Pinot Grigio, if you don't mind," she told him. "Also, can we get an order of those garlic knot thingies?"

"Of course," he answered while writing this all down. Then he practically sprinted away. Chey turned back to her menu. Phil's questioning eyes on her went unnoticed for the time being.

"Since when do you drink Pinot Grigio?" Her eyes flicked up at him and showed traces of humor.

"Since I turned 21. I do believe that is the legal age of consumption in this nation..." He mumbled _smart ass_ under his breath and she kicked him hard until the table. "Whoops, was that your leg? I'm so sorry." A heated stare down ensued, each daring the other to blink.

"I would watch where you put that foot, considering I've been wrestling for half of your life. I would have you tapping it out in a millisecond, possibly even less." Their playful banter continued for a couple of moments before they even noticed four shadows lingering over the table.

"_Cheyenne Albo_!" one exclaimed, armed with a digital camera. "I don't mean to interrupt, but do you think we can get a picture? And autographs?"

**A/N: Hi there! It's been a while, and I don't really have any good excuses as to why except for midterms and chronic laziness. However, both of those have been banished for now. I hope this chapter lived up to everyone's expectations. Let me know what you think!**

**-Annie**


	4. The Story of Us

**Um, wow. So it's only been what, SIX MONTHS? I think I've left you guys waiting long enough! I sort of lost the drive to continue writing about our favorite dramatic couple Chey and Punk, but that drive has returned! Just in case you're interested, I'm currently writing a NEW story about Punk and Kelly Kelly called Somebody Like You. If you're into that pairing, then you may like it! Thanks for sticking around, my ever-faithful readers! Here goes nothing!**

Phil watched with slight amusement as Cheyenne talked and took pictures with the group of girls that came over to the table. He didn't know how long it had been since they came to the couple, but figured it had been a little longer than five minutes. All five of the girls (including who he assumed was their idol, Chey) seemed to be having a good time talking and occasionally singing. Naturally, they ignored him; probably more out of fear than anything else. He wasn't exactly trying hard to look warm and cuddly.

A redhead with hair down to her hips asked Cheyenne about Gregory Lane, at which Phil's ears practically perked up. The smallest hint of a smile crossed Chey's face. She affirmed that Gregory and her were in fact a couple and the teenagers let out shrieks. Phil winced as the sound pierced his eardrums. It didn't matter that he was surrounded by thousands of screaming people almost daily; to him, nothing was worse than the screams of teenaged girls.

Cheyenne politely told her fans that she'd like to return to her guest and so the girls waved and went back to their table. When they sat down, they decided to stare at the pair. Cheyenne turned to face Phil.

"They're sweet," she mused. The waiter came back with a basket of dough balls that smelled heavily of garlic and butter, Phil's Coke, and Cheyenne's wine. He looked at them expectantly, holding his order pad. "Oh, I'm not ready. Sorry," the country singer said. She watched him walk off before looking down at her menu. "I don't know what I want. It all looks good."

"Yeah," the wrestler agreed even though he had decided on the lasagna ten minutes ago. A moment of silence introduced itself. A couple seconds later, Cheyenne snorted to herself. "What's so funny?" he asked. She was looking at a menu. How is a menu funny at all?

"I don't know. It's just that for years I've been thinking, '_If I could sit down with Phil Brooks, I would make everything right again._' But nothing I think of sounds right. I once wrote a hit song in four minutes but I can't even think of one thing that would make everything normal between us."

"There is no normal, Cheyenne. There never was a normal with us. Maybe we were doomed from the start."

"Don't say that," she rebutted, refusing to meet his eyes. "We could've lasted. We should have."

"But we didn't, did we?" He was getting fired up and he couldn't stop it. This was years of pent up anger, exploding in an Italian restaurant in Los Angeles of all places. "We'll never know because I wasn't good enough for you."

"Stop it!" she exclaimed. "That's not true. I wasn't too good for you. You were too good for me!" Blue eyes finally met hazel eyes. Her eyes were glassy with tears that were threatening to fall any minute. "I know how stupid I was. That's all I've thought about for too long. Everywhere I go, everything I see reminds me of that."

"Stop playing the martyr!" he shouted at her. "You knew what you wanted, and guess what? You got it. You left me in the dust and I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here and watch you change your mind years after the fact." He reached for his wallet and threw $20 on the table. "It was great seeing you, have a nice life. Tell Gregory I said hello." She choked out a sob and watched as he stood from the table and strided towards the door. She jumped up after him and grabbed his arm as he left through the front door of the restaurant.

"Please stop," she begged. "Things are different now. I didn't know what I was doing. I was nineteen years old with stars in my eyes. How was I supposed to know that I was losing the best thing that ever happened to me?" He stopped short but didn't look at her. She jumped in front of him and wiped the ugly black mascara tears from her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll say it a hundred times if I have to, but every time I mean it."

He didn't want to look at her because he knew if he saw her crying, he would give in. But he wanted to stand his ground. After all, this was the girl who pummeled his ego. She had probably thought of this though, because she leaned down until she was in his line of vision.

"I'm not asking you to drop everything and be my boyfriend again. I'm sure you have a lovely girlfriend or fiance or someone somewhere who treats you better than I ever did. I just want you to forgive me." Her voice was tiny and pathetic. "That's it."

It killed him to do it, but he knew he had to. It was time to let go of the grudge. He didn't want to keep living with this hate inside of him, following him everywhere. He didn't want to have to change the radio station in the car every time she was interviewed or turn off the TV when she came on the news. He gave out a big sigh, as though all of his hard feelings had left him. "I forgive you."

The grin that came over her face was too big for words. She wrapped her arms around his neck and jumped onto him, surprising him and almost toppling him over. Cheyenne let out another sob, but a different one. If there was such a thing as happy crying, then that was it.

And then the cameras started to flash. She turned her head and was met with paparazzi, probably close to twenty of them hounding the pair.

"Oh shit," she whispered. They were yelling out to the two of them, the clicking of their cameras incessant and almost threatening. The blonde unwrapped her arms from around his neck and looked at him. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how I didn't think of this happening. I'll fix it, I promise." She didn't quite know how to fix the fact that their faces would be all over the media tomorrow, but she'd come up with something.

Everything always seemed to work out in the end.

* * *

><p><p>

It was a week later and Cheyenne was back in Nashville for the first time in two weeks. She had her own penthouse apartment right in the heart of downtown, near Broadway. The country singer was thrilled to be back in her natural habitat, rather than the paparazzi-fest that was Hollywood. Even so, she did kind of miss the hustle and bustle. She thought about her last trip to Hollywood and a smile graced her face when she thought about her lunch with a certain wrestler. Maybe it hadn't started out exactly perfect, but it ended that way. _Well, almost,_ she thought bitterly, thinking back on how they had been mobbed by cameras. She hadn't seen anything about it on TV, but knew better than to hope that it was forgotten. Most tabloids took a week to come to print.

She grabbed her wallet and decided to head down the block to her friendly neighborhood Starbucks. When she got to the lobby of her apartment complex, she waved hello to the doorman Oscar and went outside. It was sunny, but not horribly so. The outrageous heat and rain that normally struck Nashville at this time of the year seemed to be in hiding lately. As she walked down the street, she glanced at the newsstand and almost walked past it, before doing a double take.

Well, at least she had known better than to hope that her lunch with CM Punk would go unnoticed. Shelves and shelves of different magazines had pictures of the pair on their covers. She picked up an issue of Celeb Weekly and read the front page headline.

'_**NEW ROMANCE FOR COUNTRY STARLET CHEYENNE ALBO**_

_After denying claims of dating Gregory Lane, new photos show Cheyenne Albo with wrestler CM Punk. More on page thirteen!_'

She opened up the magazine to the article and scanned it quickly.

'_**CHEYENNE ALBO REPORTEDLY SEEING CM PUNK, WWE WRESTLER**_

_Last week in Hollywood, everybody's favorite country-pop crossover star Cheyenne Albo was seen having a romantic lunch with new beau, wrestler CM Punk . Sources claim that this unlikely couple has been dating secretly for several months now and even sat next to each other at last week's Kids' Choice Awards ceremony._

"They were all over each other during the show,"_ an insider tells us. _"None of her friends approve of them being together. It's just a toxic relationship." _You'd figure that by now Cheyenne would know to stay away from bad relationships! Maybe you should've stayed with Gregory, Chey! When Celeb Weekly learn more about this whirlwind romance, our readers will be the first to know._'

"What a bunch of shit!" she exclaimed, tossing the magazine back on the rack. They didn't even sit near each other during the KCAs and they most certainly have not been 'dating secretly for several months'. She took out her phone and snapped a picture of the newsstand and then a close up of that particular magazine and sent the photos to Phil. She captioned it 'Good morning! Oh, and I know I said I would fix this but there's no fixing stupid' and sent it before she could think better of it. Pissed wouldn't accurately describe her current emotion. She was furious, though rather surprised that her phone wasn't exploding with frantic calls from her publicist asking what the hell was going on. Even Cheyenne would like to know the answer to that one.

Back in Chicago at last, the Straight Edge Superstar was pleased to be able to spend time with his girlfriend for the first time in a long time. She had practically moved into his apartment, making for interesting living arrangements since Colt was already staying there too. He felt like his place was a refugee camp.

"Babe, your phone just went off!" Maria called from the kitchen. He groaned, knowing it was probably work beckoning him. He was enjoying his small break too much to care about Vince McMahon's wanting and needing him. Phil pushed himself up off the couch regardless, and strolled into the kitchen. Maria had his phone in her hands and a scowl on her face.

"What the hell is this? Why is Cheyenne Albo texting you and why are you on the cover of a magazine hugging her?"

**Dundundun! Poor Punk. I definitely would not want to be him right now. How did you think the restaurant scene turned out? I had been writing that particular scene in my head for some time now (I don't know, about six months or so... woops!) Do you think Cheyenne has really changed her selfish tendencies? You know, fame tends to change a person... or so they say. I really hope you all liked it and I hope it was worth the wait. It's a little short, but I definitely feel like I crammed enough in this chapter to make up for, well, at least some of the wait. Thank you for reading and staying faithful, and to any new readers, thanks for clicking!**

**-Annie**

**(Still don't own anything... that'd be nice though!)**


	5. Sparks Fly

**Hi! My last update was at the end of July so I figured it was time to get Chapter 5 together. I've also been working on my other story, Someone Like You so I'm trying to split the updates evenly. Do you guys read SLY? It's Punk/Kelly so if you're into that you might like it! Anyway, his chapter has been brewing in my head for a long time and I hope I did it justice. Also, Eloise is back (woohoo!). Just wanted to point that I because I love her. Here it is!**

Phil blinked, speechless for a couple of seconds. Several things ran through his mind:

The pictures had been published after all (he thought they had gotten off scot-free)

Cheyenne's promise that she'd fix this

The fact that Maria looked livid

"Why are you hugging a pop star on the cover of a magazine?" she asked again, angrier this time. He placed his hands on the counter and threw his head back.

"It's not what it looks like," he tried.

"Like hell it's not!" she yelled and threw the phone down. "You told me that you didn't do anything in Hollywood. You said you were in your hotel room practically the whole time." She was tearing up, but he knew this was a simple fix. He knew what had really happened and it was nothing like what Maria was thinking. "Are you cheating on me?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "It's not like that. You've got this all wrong. Cheyenne and I...we go way back. We've known each other for a long time. We ran into each other at the awards show and we went out for lunch. Then the paparazzi came out. She's practically the most famous person on the planet, Ria. There was no stopping it."

"How do you know her?" Maria asked, confused. "You've never talked about her..." He sighed, knowing that he had to tell her the whole truth so she could understand. He sat down at the table and looked at his girlfriend.

"It was back when I was in ROH..."

_It was an extremely hot, humid, and rainy night in eastern Tennessee. Ring of Honor had just wrapped up a pay-per-view outside of Pigeon Forge, or Western Bumfuck Nowhere as Colt Cabana had called it while passing a sign on the highway. It was so out of the way, in fact, that the only thing they had found to amuse themselves before getting back on the road was a tiny bar off the main road called The Tavern Watering Hole._

"_This is like a scene out of _Deliverance_," Colt noted as he and Punk got out of Colt's car. Indeed, there were only four cars in the spacious parking lot. One was a white utility van parked all the way on the other side._

"_Five bucks says that belongs to a rapist," Punk stated before locking their own car and following Colt inside. Colt agreed to the bet and closed the door once they were in. It was dim and smoky and smelled like shit, and country music was playing throughout the room. The only people there were a middle-aged bartender, two old men at the bar, and a group of people on a small stage out of the way. Colt and Punk headed to the bar and ordered a beer and a soda, respectively._

"_You came here to get a Coke?" the bartender eyed the bleach-blonde Punk suspiciously. He slid a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon to Colt and leaned over to get a cup for Punk's soda._

"_Actually, Pepsi if you have it," Phil retorted with a cheeky smirk. The bartender kept his eyes on him, even as he filled the cup and slid it Punk's way. He took a sip of his soda and grimaced. "This tastes like shit. There's not even any carbonation."_

"_No refunds," the bald, tattooed bartender said before turning away to wash some glasses. Colt snorted as Punk dumped his soda on the floor next to the stool he was sitting on. They chatted about the pay-per-view and when they fell into silence, Phil turned towards the stage and watched the band play. The singer was doing a lot of hair flipping and at one point, her hair got stuck on the headstock of her guitar. Punk turned back and started to harass the barkeeper with Colt, who was now on his third beer._

"_Excuse me!" a voice came from the right. It was light and twangy and when Phil turned his head, he was met with a head of long, curled blonde hair, the girl from the stage. She was trying to get the attention of the barkeeper, who actively ignored her._

"_Hey, King of the Taps!" Colt exclaimed. "There's a lady trying to get your attention." The bald man turned with a look of annoyance on his face._

"_Look kid," he addressed the blonde girl, "You got a free drink and a free meal. That was the deal."_

"_I provide your entertainment, you provide my French fries. That was the deal," she replied with a bright white smile. "I've managed to keep your customers awake this long, haven't I? Can you say that any other night I'm not playing?"_

"_You call that shit music?" Punk asked her, rolling his cup sideways on the bar. "I thought something was dying when I walked in." She turned to him and gave him an unreadable smile. He realized she was quite pretty, up close._

"_Those are big words coming from someone with blonder hair than mine." She winked and patted his bicep before turning to walk back to the stage. When she was about four feet from the bar, she turned her head. "Oh, and next time you dump your soda on the floor, try to keep it out of the walkway. Thanks." She returned to the stage and spoke with a brunette girl who had been playing violin earlier. They seemed to agree on something and Fry Girl grabbed her guitar and went up to the microphone._

"_Just making sure everyone's still awake out there, including my new best friend in the Misfits shirt." She waved at Punk and gave him a big grin. "This is a new song called Hurts to Think." She and the band started playing the loud, guitar-heavy tune as though they had done it a hundred other times._

"_What's her name?" Punk asked the bartender after tapping his glass on the bar to get his attention. The bald man shrugged as he dried off a glass._

"_I don't know, kid."_

"_You hired her!"_

"_I don't ask many questions when the entertainment comes around and offers to play two nights for $50 and food. Even out here that's a damn good deal." He went to tend to the two other men at the bar._

"_Where are we going next?" Colt asked, his eyes having trouble focusing on his friend. There was no doubt that he was already drunk, though it wasn't hard to consider since he was on his fourth beer._

"_Some piss poor excuse for a motel for the night. Back on the road towards Philly tomorrow," answered Punk. He was disinterested in everything except the band that was packing up. A look at the Rolling Rock clock on the wall told him that it was already seven past midnight. The lead singer was wrapping up the cord to her microphone as she adjusted it._

"_Thanks to being a good crowd...well, as good as four people I can be, I guess. If anyone's interested, we'll be at the Pink Pig Bar and Tavern tomorrow night in Knoxville. It's downtown on the square. Again, I'm Cheyenne Albo, and that was Heather Hannah on fiddle, Bo Young on guitar, banjo, and steel guitar, and Mr. Hank Peters on the drums. Have a good night!" She unplugged her microphone and together the foursome started to put instruments in cases and equipment in boxes. It took them about fifteen minutes to get it all before they took everything out through a side door._

"_Let's go," Colt said as he looked through his wallet for a $20 bill. "I'm hammered enough, I'd say." He left the bill on the counter and together they left the bar. The parking lot was illuminated by two lamp posts, which showed the hazy pouring rain pounding everything in sight. Colt stumbled towards his car, taking out his keys as he did so._

"_Like hell you're driving," Punk exclaimed and took the keys from his best friend. Colt looked like he was about to protest but just shrugged and leaned against the wet car door. Punk lifted the keys into the light to try and find the unlock button, but something shiny caught his eye. He walked over and picked up a lone microphone, which was soaked. He peered around and saw the band from inside, over on the other side of the lot, loading up their white van._

"_Hey!" He yelled and jogged over. All four of them watched him curiously. "I think you dropped this." He handed it to the blonde girl. Cheyenne. Her hair was drenched from the rain and she had a blanket over her dress. She looked at the mic and took it with surprise._

"_Wow. We'd be needing that, now wouldn't we? I reckon it's ruined though, these aren't waterproof. No big deal, the cordless ones are pretty shitty anyway." She tossed it in the back of the van. "Thanks. I'm Chey."_

"_No big deal. Punk," he introduced. She cocked an eyebrow at him._

"_Punk? Now, do you really expect me to believe that your first name is Punk? Come on, I was born at night, but it wasn't last night!" She grinned good-naturedly at him before glancing at his tattoos. "That's a lot of ink you got there."_

"_That's one way of putting it," he shrugged. He couldn't believe that they were just standing in the pouring rain, having a conversation about names and tattoos and microphones of all things. As bizarre as he found it, he realized he was enjoying it. "Do you have any tattoos?"_

"_If I told you, I'd have to kill you." She winked just as the other girl, Heather, came around the van._

"_Hey, Juliet, get Romeo's phone number and let's hit the road. We have a long drive." She had a brown bob haircut, and if it wasn't soaking wet it probably would've looked good. Cheyenne watched Heather walk away before looking back at the pro wrestler._

"_Well, you heard her. I guess you'd better give me your number," Chey suggested coyly. He just shook her head at her._

"_You got a pen and somewhere dry to write it down?" She pulled out her cell phone. He took his out of his pocket and they swapped numbers under the roof of the van where it was still dry, but just barely._

_A moment of silence passed as they just watched each other. Neither knew what they had just started, tonight, in the parking lot of a small bar in a rainy Tennessee town. They had no clue that they would share an entire year together, a year that would would've been nothing less than perfect if it hadn't been ended so unexpectedly. Despite being complete opposites, having almost nothing in common, and the age gap between them, they just meshed too well to deny._

"_I guess I'll see you around," she said and closed the van's back doors. "Drive safe."_

"_Yeah," his voice cut through the rain. "You too." She waved and got into the passenger seat of the van. Punk stepped back as it pulled out of the spot and exited the parking lot, disappearing into the dark town. He walked back to Colt's car and got into the driver's seat, thoughtlessly putting the key into the ignition._

"_You owe me five dollars," Colt slurred._

"_And why the fuck do I owe you five dollars?" Punk's mind was elsewhere, and he truly had no clue what Colt was going on about._

* * *

>"<em>That wasn't a rapist's van!"<em>

"Wow," Maria said, sitting down at the table now. "I didn't know."

"That's because I had never mentioned it. See? It's really not a big deal. We met up for lunch. She hugged me. The cameras came out. And now it's on the cover of a stupid rag." Punk ran a hand through his hair, aggravated but at the same time happy that Maria wasn't worked up anymore.

"Well, I know it's not true, but that doesn't mean I like it. I don't want people thinking we're over or that you're cheating or something." Maria bit her nail. "Can you call her and ask her to say it's just a misunderstanding?" She gave him puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

"I can try." He didn't know how it was going to work, but he didn't want Maria to be humiliated by this. Cheyenne had to have a way to make this better.

"I heard you're on the cover of Celeb Weekly...and just about every other tabloid out there. Did my threatening work? Are you back with your ex?" Eloise started talking the very second that Cheyenne answered her phone while walking back into her apartment. She thought it would be Phil, but he had yet to respond to her text in any way.

"No! It's not like that. We went out for lunch, and, well, you know what comes next. Now it's everywhere and I don't know what to do."

"Just go with it! It's not worth going to the ends of the earth to fix it when it'll be forgotten about by next week, right? Just don't worry about it." Cheyenne liked the idea of this, even if it was just for a day or two. The tabloids could make up what they wanted while it was still hot news, she decided. It wouldn't bother her.

"I'm not gonna do anything. It's not that big of a deal, right?"

"Right!" Eloise exclaimed. "Hey, have you noticed that you will vehemently deny dating your current boyfriend, but when a fake story of you and your ex surfaces, you're totally A-OK with it? Can I take credit for this revelation?" A loud ping rang through the phone's speaker. "Ow! What the hell was that?"

"I got a text. Hold on." Cheyenne moved her phone from her ear and looked at the screen. It was a text from Phil.

_'Great. Look, I know you said there's no way to make this go away, but are you sure? My girlfriend is really upset and thinks she's gonna look like she's being cheated on or something.'_

"He has a GIRLFRIEND!" Cheyenne shouted into the phone.

"Oh, didn't I tell you that? He yelled at me at the KCA's and said he couldn't rejuvenate your passionate love affair because he's already got a girlfriend. Well, I guess it wasn't really yelling, but he was kind of mad..."

"You knew that but you fill my head with ideas of him and I dating again?" Cheyenne asked, dumbfounded.

"I'm your best friend! It's my job to make you happy!" The redhead sighed. "I just really like the idea of you guys getting back together. I know how serious you guys were."

"Unfortunately, that's the past. He'll never get back with me, not after dumping him. And besides, apparently he's got a girlfriend now." The blonde groaned and fell backwards onto her couch. "This is ridiculous. He wants me to somehow fix this whole mess. I think I know what I've gotta do." The line was silent for a moment.

"I think I know what you mean, but I don't agree with it. This is going to bite you in the ass, Chey. You're going to regret it. You like your ex again, don't you? So why are you just making this hard for yourself?" Cheyenne hated when Eloise pulled her voice-of-reason crap, especially when the redhead was right. The blonde sighed and grabbed a pillow and put it over her face. The groan she emitted was muffled. After a second, she pushed it off of herself.

"Do I have another option here? I don't want to ruin his relationship! I try to be a good person and this is one way to do it. I've gotta go." Cheyenne hung up and breathed in, trying to calm herself. She knew she was selfish. She had known that since she was old enough to recognize it in herself. Even as a kid, if she wanted something, then she would have it even if that meant working for it to the death. But she had to push aside what she wanted for what Phil wanted. She opened the text and started typing her response.

_'I've got it. Don't worry about it.'_

She sent it to him and then opened her contact list, scrolling down to Hannah. She dialed Hannah's cell phone number and waited until she picked up.

"Hey, Chey. What can I do for you?" Hannah greeted. She was probably busy in her office, doing whatever managers do when their clients have emotional breakdowns.

"Did you see the cover of Celeb Weekly today?"

"I did. And the cover of Star Today and EnterTeenment, among many others. I figured you'd call me when you saw them."

"Well, you thought right. Look, this is going to sound ridiculous but don't worry. People can't think that Phil Brooks and I are together if we're not."

"It's kind of late for that," Hannah mused.

"Hannah, please!" Cheyenne exclaimed, completely exasperated. "Gregory and I need to go public. That's the only way out. I know that we've worked on keeping this private for as long as I've known Gregory but I need people to know that I'm with him, not Phil. Phil has a girlfriend and she's really upset about this." The singer ran a hand through her straight hair, her mind in overdrive. She was going to throw away the privacy that she had worked so hard protecting.

Hannah's side of the line was silent except for the sound of her breathing. She cleared her throat after a moment. "If you're positive, Chey. You do understand what this means though? Showing up at each other's events, answering the interview questions...it's going to be challenging."

"So is everything else, so what else is new? This is just the icing on the cake."

"Don't be that way, Chey," Hannah responded. "Don't be a drama queen. You're making this a catastrophe for yourself, and why? For your ex's girlfriend? Do you even know her name?"

"No, and does it matter?" But it should matter, shouldn't it? _I'm sticking my neck out for some girl I don't even know._ "I'm going to go and figure out how to leak this." Cheyenne hung up the phone and laid back on her couch, staring up at the ceiling. The room was chilly but she couldn't be bothered to turn on the electric fireplace.

It wasn't that ridiculous, was it? Rearranging her personal life for Phil's girlfriend? She was just doing a favor for a friend. That's all it was. That's all it would ever be. Her cell phone rang and she answered without looking at the display. Her finger pressed the speaker phone button.

"You've reached Cheyenne's boudoir. Unfortunately Cheyenne is pissed but is taking messages so make it quick," she spoke loudly so the phone would pick up her voice.

"Just pointing out that you kind of jumped the gun. I'm interpreting that as you having it really, really bad for your ex. You know what I think? Life is short, Chey. Don't make it long." Eloise paused before elaborating. "Go for him, okay? You had him first."

**Yikes! Things are gonna get crazy in the world of Cheyenne Albo and CM Punk, and rather soon by the looks of it. This chapter was pretty dialogue-heavy, which I try to avoid, but sometimes evils are necessary. Feel free to leave feedback and thank you for reading!**


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